A LAST CHANCE.
Julian was left alone. She watched Anthony depart, till he had
disappeared round a turn of the road and a fall of the hill; then she
cast herself upon the heather in a paroxysm of agony. She drove her
fingers into the bushes of dwarf gorse, and the needles entered her
flesh and drew the blood; but she heeded it not. The rough heather was
against her cheek, a storm of sobs and tears shook and wetted the harsh,
dry flowers. He did not love her! He never had loved her! She had
fought against this conviction that, like a cold, gliding snake, had
stolen into her heart and dripped its poison there.
Now she could resist it no more. It was not told her by Bessie--it was
not a new conjecture formed on certain scribblings on the glass; it had
been proclaimed by his own lips, and at a solemn moment when he would
not lie--when he was on his way to death.
He had trifled with her heart, and he dared to reproach her! She had
loved him before ever he had known Urith, and then he had shown her
attention. Had she mistaken that attention for love? Had not her own
flaming passion seen in the reflection it called up in him a real
reciprocal flame?
After he was married she could not hide from her conscience that she had
made a struggle to win back his heart--had disregarded the counsels of
prudence and the teachings of religion in the furious resistance she had
offered to the established fact that he had been given to another, and
belonged to that other.
He did not love her! He never had loved her! And his life had been to
her precious only because she loved him, and believed that he loved her.
She drew herself up in the heather; her cheeks were flaming, scratched
by the heather branches, and her hair dishevelled. Her great dark eyes
were like a storm-cloud full of rain, and yet with fire twinkling and
flashing out of it. He was on his way to death. He would be no more in
this life to be fought for, to be won by her or by Urith.
"I am glad he is going to die!" she cried, and laughed. Then she threw
herself again on the ground in another convulsive fit of sobs.
Urith had won. She--Julian, had dared her to the contest for the prize.
Each had come off ill; but Urith had gained the object--gained it only
to lose it--won Anthony's heart, only to have it broken as her own brain
was broken.
"It is well," moaned Julian, catching at the tufts of heath and tearing
at them, but unable either to break them or root them up. "It is well! I
would never have suffered her to regain him. I would have killed her!"
Rage and disappointment tore her, as the evil spirit tore the possessed
under Tabor, and finally left her, exhausted and sick at heart. A cool
air came down off the moor and fanned her hot cheek, and dried the tears
that moistened them.
A few hours--perhaps only an hour--and Anthony would be dead. She saw
the gallows set up below Lydford Castle, and Anthony brought forth, in
his shirt; his eyes bandaged; his hands bound behind his back. She heard
the voices of the soldiers, and the hum of compassion from the
bystanders. She saw the rope fastened about his neck, and cast over the
crosstree of the gallows. Then one of the soldiers leaped, and caught
the free end of the rope, and began to haul at it. Julian uttered a cry
of horror, struggled to her knees, clasped her palms over her eyes, as
though to shut out a real sight from them, and swayed herself to and fro
on her knees.
The black 'kerchief, with the jerk, fell from his eyes, and he looked at
her. Julian threw up her hands to heaven, and screamed, with horror, "My
God, save him!"
Then she saw, indistinctly, through her tears, and out of her
horror-distended eyes, some one standing before her. She could not see
who it was; but, overmastered by her terror, she cried, "Save him! Save
him!"
"Julian!" said a voice; and it had a composing effect at once on her
disordered feelings.
"Bess! O, Bess! is that you? O, Bessie! do you know? He has given
himself up. Anthony! Anthony!" She cowered no more; her bosom labored,
and she bowed herself, with her head in her lap, and wept again.
Bessie put her hand under her arm, and raised her. "Stand up, Julian. I
did not know it; but I was quite sure he would do this. I am glad he
has. It was right."
"Bess, you are glad?"
"It is like himself; he has done right. He is my own dear, dear
Anthony."
"O Bess!--such a death!"
"The death does not dishonour; to live would have dishonoured. He has
done right."
"He has betrayed my love!" gasped Julian, "and I should be glad he died,
yet--I cannot bear it. Indeed--indeed, I cannot. O Bess! I would that it
were I who was to die--not he. Bess! will they take me and let him go?
He has been false to me, and I am true to him."
"He has not been false to you," said Bessie; "he has come to a sense of
the wrong course he was engaged in, into which you drew him. But he
never was false to you, for he never cared for you. Come! poor unhappy
girl. I know how full of sorrow you must be--so must all who love Tony."
"But, Bess! is there no way of saving him?"
Elizabeth shook her head, and said:--
"I do not suppose so. It is true that Gloine has got off, and there is a
whisper that his uncle saw the captain, and some money passed, but----"
"Oh! if money were all----"
"But, remember, Gloine was only a common soldier, and Anthony was the
captain who led the men from these parts. I do not think any money could
save him."
"Let us try." Julian sprang to her feet.
"Where is money to be had? Enough, I mean. You know the state we are
in."
"But Fox has it."
"Fox!" Bessie considered; then, turning colour, said, "I do not think
that even to save Anthony's life I would ask a favour of Fox."
"Then I will. He can and must save Anthony. Where is he?"
"At Hall. He has gone over there; that is why I left, and I was on my
way to Willsworthy when I saw your horse; I caught him by the bridle, I
knew whose it was, and came in search of you. I feared some accident.
But, Julian, I am very certain nothing can be done for Anthony, save by
our prayers. I have heard that special orders were issued that he was to
be hung. The captain came here on purpose to take and execute him. He
cannot, he dare not spare him."
"O Bess!--we will try!"
"Prayer alone can avail," said Bessie, sadly.
"Come with me. Come back to Hall. You must be with me. I will see Fox.
He alone can help us."
"I will go with you," said Bessie. "But I know that it is hopeless."
"He must be saved. He must not die!" gasped Julian.
She remounted her horse, mechanically, and Bessie walked at her side.
Julian said no more. She was a prey to conflicting emotions. A little
while ago she had wished Anthony's death, and now she was seeking to
save it. If she did succeed in saving it, it was for whom? Not for
herself. He did not love her--he never had loved her. For Urith--for her
rival, her enemy! She knew that Urith was in a strange mental condition.
She did not know that she was recovered from it. But she gave no heed to
the state in which Urith was. She thought of her as she had seen her,
handsome, sullen, defiant. That was the girl Anthony had preferred to
herself, and she would save Anthony to give him to the arms of Urith,
that Urith might take him by the neck, and cover his face with kisses,
and weep tears of joy on his breast. Julian set her teeth. Better that
he should die than this! But, next moment, her higher nature prevailed.
She had loved Anthony--she did love Anthony--and true love is unselfish.
She must forget herself, her own wrongs, real or imagined, and do her
utmost for him. How could she love him, and let him die an ignominious
death? How could she let him die, when, by an effort, she might save
him, and bear to live an hour longer? She would feel as though his blood
lay at her door.
"Bessie, I cannot stay. You walk. I must ride on as fast as I can. Time
must not be wasted. Every moment is important."
Then she struck her horse, and galloped in the direction of Hall. Her
hair, wild and tangled, flew about her ears. Her hands were full of
gorse-spikes, and every pressure on the bridle made the pain great, but
she did not regard this. Her mind was tossed with waves of contrary
feeling, and yet, as in a storm, when the surges seem to roll in every
direction, there is yet a prevailing set, so was it now. There had been
a conflict in her heart, but her nobler, truer nature had won the day.
As she drew up in the courtyard of Hall, Fox came out, and uttered an
exclamation of surprise at seeing her.
He was in a high condition of excitement. Without waiting to hear her
speak, he burst forth into a torrent of complaint.
"I will have the law of them--soldiers though they be, and with a
search-warrant, they are not entitled to rob--we have been treated as
though we were foreigners, and subjected to all the violence of a sack.
They have torn open every cupboard, broken into every drawer and
cabinet, thrown the books and letters about--I can find nothing, and
what is worst, I cannot lay my hands on the money. To-morrow is the last
day, to-morrow the mortgage must be paid, and I know that my
father-in-law had some coin in the house. By the Lord! I wonder whether
he had the wit to secrete it somewhere, or left it where any plunderer
would go straight in quest of it. And he is to be hanged in an hour, and
I cannot ask him."
"Fox, it is not true; Master Cleverdon escapes."
"I know he will be hanged, and I do not suppose that set of ruffians
will let me see him and find out where the money is. I have searched
everywhere, and found nothing but broken cabinets and overturned
drawers, account-books, title-deeds, letters, bills, all in confusion
along with clothing. It drives me mad. And--unless the money be
forthcoming to-morrow, Hall is lost. I have heard that the agent of the
Earl of Bedford will offer a price for it--and that there is like to be
another offer from Sir John Morris. They would out-bid me. The mortgage
must be paid, or Hall lost, and if the old man be hanged to-day, Hall is
mine by this evening. It will drive me crazed--where can the money be?
He was fool enough for anything--to put it in his cabinet, or in a box
under his bed, or in the chimney, tied in an old nightcap like as would
have done any beldame. If he has done that--then the soldiers have taken
it. Who was to interfere? Who to observe them? They drove all the
servants out. They took the Squire in custody, and I was not here. I was
at Kilworthy, as you know."
"Fox," said Julian. "It is no matter to me whether Hall be saved or
lost. Anthony has surrendered, and the Squire is free."
"Anthony surrendered!" Fox fell back and stared at her, then laughed.
"'Fore heaven! we live in crack-brained times when folk take a delight
in running their heads into nooses. There was my father did his best to
get hung, drawn, and quartered. A merciful Providence sent him into the
other world with a bullet in his heart, and saved the honour of the
family, and made a more easy exit for him. And now there is Tony--runs
to the gibbet as though to a May-dance! Verily! there are more fools
than hares. For them you must hide the snare, for the fools expose it,
cross-piece, loop, and rope, and all complete, and ring a bell and
call--come and be hanged! Come!"
"Fox, we must save Anthony."
"Save him? Why, he will not be saved! He had the world before him, and
he might have run where he would; now he has gone where he ought not,
and must take the consequences. Save him! Let him be hanged. I want his
father. I want to know what money he has, and where it is. I can't find
the whole amount. I know he has, or had, some hundreds of sovereigns
somewhere."
"Fox, you must assist me to save Anthony; we cannot let him die. I will
not! I will not! He must not die!" Her passion overcame her, and she
burst into tears.
"Pshaw! He is past salvation. If he is in the hands of Captain Fogg, he
is in a trap that has shut on him and will not let him go.
Besides--nothing can be done."
"Yes, there can. Gloine escaped. His uncle, the rich old yeoman at
Smeardon, bought him off."
"No money will buy Anthony off. Besides, where is the money to come
from?"
"You have some. Fogg let off Gloine, and he will let Anthony off if he
be paid a sufficient sum. If he was a rascal in small game, he will be
rascal in great."
"I do not care to have Tony escape; I owe him a grudge. Besides, and
that is just as well, his father is not here; what money the old fellow
has is hidden in some corner or other, where I cannot find it, unless it
has been carried off by those vultures, those rats."
"If this is not available you must help."
"I! pshaw! I cannot, and I will not."
"You can; you have a large sum at your disposal."
Fox turned mottled in face. He stared at his sister with an uneasy look
in his eye.
"What makes you suppose that?" he said. "It is a folly; it is not true.
I am poor as the yellow clay of North Devon. No small sum would serve,
and I have but a couple of groats and a crown in my pouch."
"You have the money; you yourself admitted it, two minutes ago. You
said that if you could find the money Squire Cleverdon had laid by, you
would be able to make up the rest."
"Oh! that was talk! I would mortgage my Buckland estate."
"You have the money. Fox, this is evasive."
"What will satisfy you? Here is a crown, and here two groats, and, by
Heaven--there is a penny as well. Take this and go--try your luck with
Captain Fogg."
"I will have nothing under five hundred pounds. Fox, you can help me,
and you will."
"I have not the coin. If I had I would not spare it. I will not throw
Hall away. What is Tony to me? If he puts his neck into the noose, who
is to blame if the rope be pulled and he dangles? No; here is the extent
of my help--a crown, two groats, and one penny."
"Fox! I will sell you all my rights in Kilworthy. I will make over to
you everything I have there--land, house--all--all--if you will give me
five hundred pounds in gold."
Fox looked down, considered, then shook his head.
"There is not time for it. By the time we had got the transfer engrossed
and signed, all would be over. Fogg won't let the grass grow under his
feet, nor the rope rot for lack of usage. No; if there were time, I
might consider your offer; but, as there is not, I will not. Let Tony
hang: it is his due. He ran his head into the loop."
"Your final answer is--you will not help?"
"To the extent of one crown, two groats, and a penny."
"Then, Fox, I shall help myself."